


Bruises and Honey Jars

by LT_Aldo_Raine



Category: Godless (TV 2017)
Genre: Country & Western, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Sexual Tension, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LT_Aldo_Raine/pseuds/LT_Aldo_Raine
Summary: “Take your shirt off,” she commanded, voice steady.She uncapped the jar, let the lid fall—like his shirt—to the barn floor, dipped two fingers inside. Her dark eyes met his own as her coated fingers met his skin. Roy sucked in a breath at the contact—the healing balm was too cool against his warm, bruised flesh. The woman working it into his skin was not to be ignored, either.OR: Roy gets injured while breaking the horses in, and Alice offers to soothe his wounds.





	Bruises and Honey Jars

**Author's Note:**

> Alice and Roy, what a pair.

She watched him wincing when he thought she wasn't looking, saw the way he gently lowered himself into the chair at the supper table, noticed how his gait had slowed just _so_. He'd been breaking the horses for about two weeks now, and yesterday, he'd had a particularly rough time—the rowdy Buckskin mare had thrown Roy off three times in under half an hour.

That night before supper time, Alice had made her way to the barn to announce that the food was warm and ready when she caught him—his shirt lifted, pants hanging low on his hips, body twisted—as he examined a nasty bruise that spanned from below his hip, across his side, and up around his rib cage.

“I bet that stings,” she called. “Did you break anything?”

Roy's eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he neglected to drop his shirt, choosing instead to poke at the sensitive flesh until he flinched. “Don't reckon so.”

“Hold on a moment.”

Alice disappeared and Roy felt his stomach clench. She was going to fetch Granny, no doubt. And whatever Granny would bring for his injury was gonna hurt—bad. Only, moments later, Alice returned alone with what looked like a jar of honey in her hands.

“Take your shirt off,” she commanded, voice steady.

He didn't move at first, but merely met her purposeful gaze head-on. After a few seconds, though, he pulled one arm through, then lifted the dirty shirt over his head and let it fall to the ground. Over the years that Roy rode with Frank and his men, there had been many women in many towns all across the western territories of the country. But standing there, battered and pained, his injuries exposed to Alice Fletcher and the early evening breeze, Roy felt much smaller than he had in a long time.

The woman drew close, the lantern hanging from the barn door helping illuminate her path in the shadowy hours of dusk. She uncapped the jar, let the lid fall—like his shirt—to the barn floor, dipped two fingers inside. Her dark eyes met his own as her coated fingers met his skin. Roy sucked in a breath at the contact—the healing balm was too cool against his warm, bruised flesh. ****The woman working it into his skin was not to be ignored, either. As Alice lathered the remedy over Roy's skin, she tenderly massaged the aching muscles, her thumb drawing in slow, small circles, her nails delicately scraping across his skin.

As she worked to loosen the tension in his injured side, Roy felt the oncoming burden another kind of strain. The muscles in his stomach began to coil, every inch of his body growing more and more alert, stirring to life, awoken by the presence of the woman whose careful hands so patiently tended to his pain.

Her name fell from his lips as he brought a hand to rest against her neck, his fingers slicing through her loose, dark curls. Alice stilled. The hand splayed across his hip tightened, her fingertips grasping at his purple-blue skin. His eyes traced her face—searching—, waiting for her to turn to him, to step into his arms.

But she didn't.

She didn't pull away, either.

Roy tilted his heads forward, close enough for her hair to tickle his cheek, his nose. He wondered if his breath was warm on her face. Wondered how she would react if he gave into the temptation to put his mouth to hers. She would let him kiss her, he thought. But she wouldn't be able to look at him in the morning. For the young widow, this was too soon. He needed to give her more time.

So, despite the throbbing pain in his side and the desire pooling in his stomach, Roy dropped his hand from her hair and backed away so that the air could breathe between their bodies. He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma'am.”

It was only then that Alice allowed herself to face him, her facade of disinterest firmly in place. “Supper's getting cold. We should head inside.”

He fetched his discarded shirt, hissed at the pain that shot through his side when he stretched to pull it on, Alice regarding him all the while. She half-thought to tell him to be more mindful tomorrow, to take better care of himself when breaking the horses. But Alice wasn't one to tell somebody how to do their job. Instead, she retrieved the cap for the jar and turned her back, retreating inside and leaving the handsome stranger—who with each passing day was become a little less strange and a little more handsome—alone in the barn with his bruises.

Roy skimmed a hand over his shirt, tracing the dull ache of his wounds, and sighed. “That woman's gonna be the death of me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> More to come!


End file.
